Remembering Stan
by Ben Barrett
Summary: After Kyle forgets everything he knows, Stan does everything in his power to help Kyle remember. SxK. Slash. No longer a collab project.
1. Prologue

**A Note From Ben: We came up with this idea almost immediately after finishing _Raisins Boy_, but we've been putting it off for quite some time. Now, there are an ungodly number of amnesia stories in the works, and we briefly considered shelving this again. The thing is, we're not _going to_. We're going to push forward, and if you think it's more of the "same old thing", why you're welcome to walk away. That'll be your loss, though, because one thing we can assure you of: this will _not_ be more of the "same old thing".**

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**Disclaimer: We don't own_ South Park_. Never have, never will.**

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**Remembering Stan**  
By Ben Barrett and Flabz

**Prologue – A Dark and Stormy Night**

We begin this story on a dark and stormy night. Ah, yes.You've heard that one before, haven't you? Nearly every spooky story you hear as a child starts with a phrase very similar to that one.Usually it involves a person or a group of people in a place they shouldn't be, such as in an abandoned house or walking through the woods. Well, this one is no exception, for as the blackness clears from our vision and our imaginations begin to put the scene together, we can see two boys in the one place they shouldn't be: three stories above the ground on the roof of a big green house.

We can't really make them out too well, as we are on the ground and there is very little light anywhere. There is a boy standing next to us. A quick glance at him shows us that it is Stan Marsh, a boy of about fourteen years. He's wearing a red poof ball hat that has been completely soaked by the rain, and he's staring up at the spectacle above with a look of great concern on his face. He wants to help at least one of the people up there, though he obviously can't. You may be asking yourself why he doesn't just go through the house, climb up, and lend a hand, and it would be best if you kept that question to yourself. After all, this boy is not stupid by any means, and asking him such a thing just might piss him off. If he could be up there, he most certainly would be, so it's safe to assume that he's locked out.

We ascend into the air and leave the boy behind. Oh, don't worry about him. He'll be okay. He's a strong kid. Besides, we have a lot more to see. After all, if we really want to know what's going on, we're going to have to get a little closer to action. 

As soon as we clear the roof, we can easily piece a few things together. Eric Theodore Cartman, a tubby child who has been disliked by anyone who ever met him, is advancing slowly on another boy with a knife. The second boy, Kyle Broflovski, is backing slowly away, and we can see the fear in his eyes; he's running out of room to run.

"It's the end of the road, Jew," Cartman says. "There's no place left for you to go."

"Cartman!" Kyle shouts back. "This is so stupid! I mean _really_!"

The thunder booms loudly over our heads, and a streak of lightning comes tearing down dangerously close to our current position. Obviously, this isn't the best place to be standing on any day, but it is especially dangerous now with the weather being what it is. 

"It's not stupid!" Cartman yells back when the sound stops reverberating in our ears. "I've spent years and years of going at it with you, trying to get rid of your sorry Jew ass, dealing with you day in and day out. It all comes down to this."

He flashes a wicked smile that could make even the most hardened criminal shudder. This boy, despite his age, is obviously not someone you want to cross. That smile tells not only of the atrocities he's committed, but also of the wickedness that still lies in his future. This is the kind of person who would feed you your own parents if he got the chance, and then revel in the sorrow he caused.

"So you backed me against the edge on your roof in the rain!" Kyle challenges with a bravado that we can see right through. He's scared to death right now, because he knows that Cartman is just crazy enough to kill him. "Do you really think I'll stand here and be stabbed by you, when I can just jump to safety?"

Cartman throws back his head and laughs at this in a very stereotypical super villain manner. He's getting a lot of pleasure out of this.

"Jump to safety?" he chuckles. "Go ahead then. Jump off the roof and give me the pleasure of watching you splatter against the ground. It may even be more satisfying than stabbing you. Regardless, Kahl, only one of us is going to make it off this roof alive."

Kyle looks quickly over his shoulder and the realization quickly dawns on his face that Cartman is absolutely right. Jumping would be suicide. There is only one sane way off the roof, and the asshole with knife is blocking it.

"Dude you've had plenty of chances to kill me!" Kyle shouts. "Do you really think you're gonna actually do it now?"

Cartman moves forward with a sadistic gleam in his eye. 

"Yes, Kahl," he hisses, "I'm actually going to do it now."

Kyle takes a step back and nearly steps off the roof entirely. He actually loses his balance for a second and waves his arms furiously, trying to keep himself from falling. Cartman sees this and stops to watch, quite pleased that things are going so smoothly.

"Kyle!" Stan screams fearfully from the ground. A quick look downward and we see him right at the edge of the house, bouncing anxiously from foot to foot. Being completely unable to help his friend is obviously taking its toll on him.

"Your boyfriend gets to watch you die," we hear Cartman hiss. We turn back around and see that Kyle has managed to regain his balance, though just barely. "That makes this SO much sweeter."

"Number one," the other boy snarls, trying to get away from the edge without coming within range of the knife, "he's not my boyfriend; he's my _best_ friend. Number two, I'm not gonna die."

"I don't give a shit _what_ he is to you," Cartman snarls, moving closer. He's nearly within striking distance now. "I only care that he can't get up here to help you. All he can do is stand down there and watch. Isn't it nice, Kahl? Isn't it the _best_?"

Kyle can't move now, despite his obvious desire to do so. His eyes dart quickly to the television antenna, and it isn't hard to tell what he's thinking. He's debating whether it would be worth it to climb up there, where Cartman would not be able to follow him no matter what. He'd be a sitting duck if any more lightning bolts happen to come this way, but it's highly doubtful that he cares anymore. He'll die if he climbs up there, he'll die if he jumps, and he'll die if he stays put; choices, choices.

"You're fucking psycho, Cartman!" he screams.

He begins inching toward the antenna, which is on the far downward slope of the roof. If he's going to get there, he's going to have to make his way along with gravity and the weather working against him. The odds are not in his favor.

"Kyle, don't do it!" we hear Stan shout from below. He has circled the house and is in position to make an attempt at catching Kyle if anything should happen to him. "You'll fall! Please!"

The redhead looks down at his friend on the ground, and then stops. He gives Cartman a desperate look and holds up his hands in defeat.

"Okay, Cartman," he says. "I give up already."

No response. Cartman just keeps grinning.

"Come on! This isn't funny!" Kyle says, trying to reason with him.

"Funny?" Cartman says joyfully. "In another two minutes, there will be one less Jew in this world, and one less pain in my ass, and the best part is there's no way you can weasel your way out of it this time. That's more than funny, Kahl. That's fucking _hilarious_!"

"D-dude... come on... don't do this man."

"If I don't," Cartman continues, relentlessly, "we'll just end up back nyah again. In the end, it WILL come down to either you or me. It's inevitable, Kahl."

"Cartman!" we hear Stan shout from below. "Remember San Francisco! Remember how miserable you were without him! You NEED Kyle!"

If you happen to be confused by that statement, it's perfectly understandable. Not everyone has been with the boys through all of their ordeals. For those of you who may be "out of the know", there was a point in Kyle's life, many years before any of this, in which he was forced to live in San Francisco. When it was realized that the smug attitude of the city was going to cause it to disappear up its own asshole, Cartman risked his own life to get Kyle out and bring him back to South Park. He had realized through the whole experience that Kyle was the yin to his yang, the black to his white, and that he needed him around to give him a purpose.Apparently, by this point in time, Kyle has either outlived that purpose or Cartman just doesn't care anymore.

"Hmmph," Cartman snorts at Stan's words.

"Y-yeah dude." Kyle says unsurely. He knows nothing about Cartman saving his life, because Cartman ordered the one person who knew, Butters, to keep his mouth shut. "I….I mean without me... who will you rip on? Who will take it all...?"

The other appears to think about this for a minute, and it looks as though he's actually reconsidering.Might this tub of psychotic guts have a conscience after all? Could it be that there's still a slight glimmer of humanity left somewhere in there?

"No!" he shouts, shaking this off and proving that none of that is so. "It's another one of your Jewtricks! I won't fall for it! This ends NOW!"

He suddenly rushes forward with the knife and we zoom out into the air to get a better view of everything that happens. Sadly, we are but silent spectators, and we can do nothing to help, despite how grisly this is obviously going to get.

"Kyle!" Stan shouts frantically. He's beginning to lose control. "KYLE!"

"Goodbye, Jew!" Cartman bellows.

Kyle backs up instinctively and in doing so makes a grave error. We see the look of shock on his face as he suddenly realizes that he's not being held up by the roof anymore, and everything slows down as he begins to tumble toward the ground. He screams as he falls, but we cannot hear anything but the beating of our own hearts in our ears. All we see is his mouth hanging open in a look of sheer horror, and we see a dark stain appear around his crotch as the terror causes him to piss his pants.

As things begin speed up again, let us mercifully turn our attention toward Stan, who is trying desperately to reach his rapidly descending friend. He's moving as quickly as he can, though the pain and anguish on his face tells us that he already knows he'll be too late. All we can do is watch in horror as he makes his doomed attempt. 

"Kyle, no!" he screams.

There is a sickening thud behind us, and we can now safely turn around. Kyle is there on the ground, quite motionless, and there is blood running from his mouth, his nose, and his ears.

"Yes!" Cartman bellows from below. "SPLAT!"

"Omigod!" Stan moans, tears streaming down his face as he hovers over his friend, trying desperately to figure out what to do. "Kyle! Kyle? KYYYYYYYLE!"

We zoom toward the sky, as this scene is no longer a place anyone wants to be. As we do so, however, we can hear Stan's screams fade into the wail of an ambulance, which is almost immediately drowned out by the thunder.

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**Next Chapter: Sam**


	2. Sam

_I will remember you  
Will you remember me?  
Don't let your life pass you by  
Weep not for the memories_

**_-Sarah McLachlan, I Will Remember You_**

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**Chapter One - Sam**

Blackness; that's all we see when we rejoin the story. There is no light anywhere, and there is nothing discernable anywhere. Go ahead and take a look around, squint against the darkness if you want to. Let your eyes adjust in the hopes of making something out. You'll be surely disappointed, as there is nothing to "make out". There is no furniture lurking there in the darkness, concealed by the shadows and just waiting to damage the shins of anyone who dares to walk forward. There is simply….nothing.

Interesting, huh? Well, before you storm off and find something better to do, remember that things aren't always what they appear. If you stick around for a minute or two longer, you may find that this isn't just a dark room. No, we're looking at something, though at this point it isn't possible to tell what it is. All we know is that it's taking up our entire field of vision, preventing us from really taking in anything that's happening in the story.

"Please wake up," we hear someone say. It appears that our hearing has no been impaired in the least. "You're my best friend. Please."

"Ssh," another voice, an older female, says to the first, "just keep being there for him, Stanley. He'll wake up eventually."

We can't see these people, though we can probably guess who the first one is, and if you can guess that, you can probably guess why we can't see anything. We're looking through someone else's eyes, and those eyes are closed. We've been staring directly at the back of a pair of closed eyelids this whole time.

Suddenly, as if reacting to our discovery, a horizontal sliver of light splits the darkness in two; these eyes are beginning to open. The slit stays very narrow for a moment, then opens a little wider. We can now make out a blurry world in front of us, and there are several indistinct figures in our line of sight.

"Oh my God!" one of them cries. Is that voice familiar? It should be. It was the first voice we heard earlier. It's Stan. "He's waking up! Kyle, can you hear me?"

Our view changes at this point so that we can get a better idea of what's going on. We suddenly find ourselves looking at the scene from off to the side. Stan is standing over his friend Kyle, who we last saw plummeting off the roof of a house. Apparently, Kyle has survived the fall, which is in itself quite miraculous, and is just now waking up from the experience.

"Mmm," he says, slowly opening his eyes.

There are three other people other than Stan gathered here, and he gives each of them a glance as he takes in his surroundings. There is a heavyset woman with red hair done up in a bun, a man with a neatly trimmed beard wearing a yarmulke. Meet Sheila and Gerald, Kyle's parents. There is also a boy about Stan's age wearing an orange parka which completely covers his face. Pay extra close attention to this one. His name is Kenny, and he's quite the character.

"Bubbee!" Sheila says happily.

"Welcome back, dude," Kenny says, though his words are barely recognizable due to the cloth over his face.

"Wha..?" Kyle stutters, confusion written all over his face. "Huh...where...who?"

Kyle is looking around at each of them as if he has never seen them before.

"Thank God you're back," Stan says with a smile. "We've been so worried about you."

"Worried...?" Kyle replies, his confusion only deepening as he looks at Stan. This cannot be a good sign. It could simply be disorientation, a result of waking up after being out for so long, and that's most likely what the others are chalking it up to. That would definitely explain why they haven't reacted to it yet. We know better, though. Something is definitely wrong.

"Oh yes," Sheila explains. "Stanley hasn't left your side since you fell. He's been a very loyal friend to you, Bubbee."

Kyle looks from his mother to Stan, and he's beginning to look extremely scared now.

"Him?" Kyle asks, pointing at Stan.

It's Stan's turn to look confused. He looks over at Sheila, and she returns his expression. They're finally beginning to catch on that something is off, that it isn't just disorientation. Kyle doesn't seem to recognize anyone.

"Kyle," Sheila asks, "don't you remember Stan?"

"No," he answers, looking at the black haired boy as if he is a complete stranger.

"Oh my God," Stan moans, closing his eyes. He's beginning to grasp what has happened, and he doesn't like it.

"And, uh, who are you?" Kyle asks, looking directly at Sheila.

"What do you mean?" she demands. "I'm your mother, Kyle. And this is your father."

She gestures toward her husband, who smiles down at Kyle. Kyle doesn't bother to return this. Instead, he puts his head down and looks at his hands, which he stretches out and examines as if they're the most interesting thing in the world.

"Kyle," he repeats thoughtfully, "is that my name?"

"Holy shit!" Kenny says through his parka. "He doesn't even remember his own name!"

Stan has had enough. His good mood at seeing his best friend awaken is gone, replaced entirely by an intense anger that we can see all over his face. This is a side of Stan that we shouldn't have ever had to see, and definitely one a confused Kyle doesn't need to be seeing at this moment. This is the angry Stan, the one that comes out only when his patience has reached its end and he can no longer remain his good-natured and easygoing self.

"I'm gonna kill that fat fucker for this!" he snarls angrily, pounding his fist into his palm. "I'll fucking kill him!"

Kyle suddenly looks alarmed. He has no idea who Stan is talking about, or why he's so angry. We know, of course, that he's talking about Cartman. Selfish, cold-hearted Cartman, who's actions caused Kyle to tumble and apparently lose his memory. Stan wants nothing more at this point than to catch up with Cartman and break every bone in his body. Their sometimes friend was guilty of some pretty horrific crimes, but this….this is too much.

Kenny sees this and immediately jumps into action. He grabs Stan by the shirt sleeve and drags him off to the corner of the room. Kyle watches them apprehensively as they whisper heatedly back and forth. There are wild hand gestures, and a time or two, Stan looks like he's on the verge of hitting Kenny, too. In the end, however, he simply hangs his head in defeat and nods. Kenny throws an arm over his shoulders and whispers something in his ear. Stan takes a slow, deep breath and lets it out, then they walk back to the bed together.

"Better, Stanley?" Sheila asks, giving him a 'You'd better be' look.

"Yes, ma'am," he answers.

"Now," she says, addressing her son, "tell me who you recognize."

Kyle looks around the room, letting his eyes linger on each of them for several seconds. He's studying them all, searching his non-existent memories for anything about any of them. Finally, when he's been over everyone several times, he simply shakes his head and looks away sadly.

"You don't remember...anything, do you?" Stan asks, knowing the answer already.

"No," Kyle replies.

"Kenny," Sheila says, turning to our orange little friend, "run and get the doctor. Go as fast as you can."

"Doctor?" the boy in the bed asks. "Where am I, a hospital or something? Why am I here?"

Kenny turns away from Kyle's bedside to run for the doctor. As he does so, he trips over a power cord and lands on a nearby empty bed. This somehow activates the motor, which causes the bed to fold up. Kenny is squished inside, and all we hear is his cry of agony. Sensing his chance to test the actual damage to Kyle's memory, Stan jumps into action.

"Oh my God!" he cries. "They killed Kenny!"

He looks at Kyle, who looks back at him blankly.

"Why are you looking at me? I didn't kill him."

"Man, you really have forgotten EVERYTHING."

"What have I forgotten Sam?" Kyle challenges.

"Um," Stan groans, pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger, "you were supposed to say 'you bastards'."

Kyle cocks his head at this. These words, though they've been uttered by the two of them in various forms over the years, are completely foreign to him. In his ears, this is no different that the lyrics of a song he's never heard before. He can't sing along, because he doesn't know how.

"'You bastard'?" he replies, his mouth turning upwards into a slightly amused smirk. "Why? Did you kill him?"

"Oh, nevermind."

Kyle doesn't know Stan from Adam's cat, but we can tell that he is intrigued by him at the very least.

"You're weird, Sam," he says.

"Stan," the other corrects.

"No, I'm Kyle...I think."

Stan is not amused by this. He turns from the bed and sits down in a chair against the wall. He puts his between his knees and doesn't move again. The poor boy has been through one hell of an emotional rollercoaster lately, and it has obviously taken its toll on him. We'll leave him be for the present time and turn our attention to the rest of the group.

Kyle's parents are absolutely devastated, and Sheila has collapsed into Gerald's arms. He is doing her best to comfort her as she wails, obviously unable to hold her composure any longer, even for her son's sake.

"That fall off the roof must have done more damage that the doctors thought!" she moans. "Oh, Gerald! What are we gonna do?"

"Have I…done something?" Kyle asks them.

"No, Kyle," Gerald tells him, doing his best to give his son a reassuring look while looking over his wife's oversized hair bun. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's just..."

At this point, the hospital door opens and we turn to see what's going on. A new person walks in that we've never seen before, and from the look of him you might think he just wandered into the wrong room; he definitely looks nothing like anyone else here. He has jet black hair, beady little black eyes, and the top of his head doesn't seem to be attached to the bottom. This is Ike, Sheila and Gerald's adopted child and the youngest member of Kyle's family. He doesn't see everyone looking at him right away, because he is drinking deeply from a can of Coke as he enters. As he lowers the can, however, he sees his parents looking quite upset and immediately shoots a glance over at Kyle. Obviously, he got the wrong idea from his mother's tears and immediately expected the worst.

"Kyle!" he says, relief spreading across his face. "You're awake!"

Kyle doesn't respond. He simply eyes the newcomer with distrust. We can tell by the look on his face that he doesn't like the way this boy's head seems to flap when he talks.

"Um," he says, giving his parents a 'what the fuck' look, "How are you doing?"

Still no response.

"Kyle?" he persists. "Are you….?"

"I don't know who this is," Kyle says, "though I'm going to take a guess and say that he's someone else I'm supposed to know."

Gerald motions for Ike to follow and they retreat into the hallway, where the boy will be brought up to date, no doubt. Kyle doesn't give them a second glance as they go. He's getting annoyed again.

"And what's your problem, Sam?" he demands of Stan, who is still sitting quietly where we left him. When he hears Kyle addressing him, albeit incorrectly, his head comes up slowly from between his knees, and we see just how tired he really is.

"Kyle," he says wearily, "my best friend needs help to get better, and I have no idea how to help him."

"Who's your best friend?" Kyle asks, as if he'd honestly remember.

"You are," Stan replies.

Kyle doesn't look all that surprised at this, and all things considered, why would he be? He does raise his eyebrows rather quizzically at these words, however. He still doesn't seem to realize that there's something genuinely wrong with him.

"What am I getting better from, Sam?"

"From your...your amnesia."

"AMNESIA!" Kyle barks back. "Oh, whatever! If I had amnesia, I'd remember!"

The irony of this statement does not bring a smile to anyone's face, and only makes Stan shake his head in disgust.

"This isn't funny, Kyle!" he shoots back, just as Ike and Gerald walk back in.

"Funny?" Kyle repeats, letting the word linger for a second before he picks up a pitcher of water from the nearby table and flinging it across the room. Ike jumps out of the way just in time to keep from being hit in the head with it. "Funny? Of course it isn't funny! All of you randomly pop up in front of me, claiming to know me and my past! I don't know any of you!"

He points an accusing finger at Sheila and shoots her a black look that the old Kyle would not have ever dared to give to his mother. "You could be a mad woman for all I know!"

He turns his attention and his finger to his father. "And you could be some kind of psycho!"

Then to Stan: "And you…..you could be some kind of stalker rapist!"

"I'm not a stalker rapist!" Stan argues defensively. "I'm your best friend!"

"So YOU say."

"Holy shit!" Ike says in shock.

"And who's he?" Kyle demands.

"He's…your little brother," Sheila answers, the strain in her voice letting us know that she's trying desperately to remain calm. "His name is Ike."

Kyle gives Ike another once over, the disbelief etched all over his face.

"Oh yeah," he says sarcastically, "that's a good one. We look nothing alike."

"That's a long story, Kyle," Stan says, rubbing his temples.

"I don't wanna know," Kyle says, folding his arms stubbornly and looking away, looking very much like a small child.

Seeing his best friend reduced to this is more than Stan can take. He reaches his breaking point and throws his hands up in defeat. He grabs his jacket and shakes his head, more upset than any of us can possibly imagine.

"I...I can't deal with this anymore," he says. "I have to go."

"We understand, Stanley," Sheila tells him. "It's okay."

As Stan moves toward the door, however, something happens that is simply too strange to explain rationally. Something in Kyle's face changes at the moment that he realizes that Stan is walking out on him. There's something there that looks like…panic. He suddenly looks more scared than he has the entire time we've been in the room with him.

"Don't!" he suddenly calls out.

"Don't what?" Stan mumbles, stopping just long enough to look back over his shoulder.

Kyle doesn't answer for a minute. He just sits there, looking down into his lap for a moment or two. Then, just as everyone is ready to shrug it off as just a random outburst that meant nothing, he mumbles something into his chest.

"What did you say?" Stan asks, moving closer.

"Don't go," Kyle mumbles again.

"A minute ago you were calling me a stalker rapist and screaming at me, now you want me to stay?"

Well," Kyle answers slowly, "I dunno where all that came from okay, Sam? I...I just had a sudden anger burst. You try waking up in a bed with strangers claiming to know you and see how you like it."

Stan sits down on the bed next to him and looks into his eyes. This is him at his most sincere, at his most honest and vulnerable. If Kyle says something horrible to him while he's like this, it will surely crush the poor boy's soul into a thousand pieces. He will never be the same again.

"It's Stan," he says gently, "and I'm willing to...help you remember, if you'll let me. You're my best friend, Kyle."

"Okay Sa...err, Stan," he says, looking back at him.

"You're gonna remember, Kyle. I promise."

"You'd do all this for me?" Kyle asks, smiling a little at him. He's sincerely touched that someone who is little more than a stranger to him would be willing to do so much to help him.

"Of course I would!" Stan says, smiling. He's back to his old self. "Like I told you, you're my best friend."

Well," the other says, "if that's true, then I can see why I would have you as a best friend."

* * *

We move slowly to the window, where we can see the sun beginning to set, staining the sky with a glorious shade of deep red. We stay here for a second before our story transition moves us forward to the same sky at night. The moon is out and the stars are twinkling peacefully.

Suddenly, we find ourselves looking not at the sky, but at Stan and Gerald, who are sitting at tables in the hospital cafeteria. They're picking quietly at plates of dry macaroni and cheese that no doubt cost them more money than they were worth. Stan looks like he wants to ask Gerald something, and Gerald look like he knows that there's something on the boy's mind, but neither of them are making any attempt at making conversation.

Stan picks up a noodle from his plate that is so ridiculously overcooked that it looks as though it could break teeth and puts it to the side. He has quite a collection of nasty macaroni noodles on his napkin.

"Okay," Gerald says finally, to our relief and Stan's, "I've sat here for the last hour watching you pick at that nasty garbage. Why don't you tell me what's weighing so heavily on your mind?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Stan replies.

"Well, you could've said something yourself, you know," Gerald answers with a smirk.

Stan nods and looks back down at his noodles. He's gathering his thoughts, or at least trying to put on the appearance of gathering his thoughts. God knows, he's had plenty of time to organize them, perfect them, throw them out, and start over again several times. He's stalling.

"Come on, Stan," Gerald prods.

"It's what Kyle did back there," Stan admits.

"You mean when he asked you not to go?"

"Yeah."

"Well," Gerald says, "I don't claim to know very much about the human brain, or the soul, or any of that. I'm a lawyer, not a doctor or a priest."

Stan nods at this and Gerald continues.

"All I know is there's something about you that Kyle remembers somehow. Maybe not mentally, because it's obvious that he doesn't remember any of us. I'm thinking it could be a deep rooted connection that caused him to call out for you. It could even be spiritual."

"Go on."

Stan is barely blinking, he's focusing so deeply on this man's words.

"Well, you've been friends since before you could talk, and it's no secret that there are feeling between you that go beyond friendship, though whether it's from one of you or both of you, I don't know. I don't want to know, either. That's not my business. I just want you to know that people have picked up on it, whether the two of you have or not."

Stan nods. We can tell by the look on his face that he's definitely picked up it, too. We can't really tell any more than that. What's the history between him and his best friend? Do they both have romantic feelings for each other? Is it only from one of them? Have they discussed it at length? Are they…together? Alas, these are not questions we have the answers to at this point in our story, so let us leave it and proceed forward. Gerald is still speaking.

"I think the two of you have such a bond," he says, "that when he saw you walking out on him, it caused him to flip out. I saw fear on his face, Stanley. He was terrified, though he had no idea why."

"You're saying," Stan responds, "that we're so closely connected, that it could have been his very soul that screamed out for him to stop me?"

"Yes, Stan," Gerald says, smiling over his plastic fork. "That's exactly what I'm saying."

* * *

**Next: Home**


	3. Home

**A Note From Ben: I wasn't originally planning to finish this story. You see, when I started it, I was writing it with my then-girlfriend Flabz. We were having a lot of fun coming up with new ideas for chapters. Then we broke up. I didn't want to continue OUR story anymore, because it didn't feel right to be writing it by myself. Still, people kept pestering me about it. People actually wrote to me and asked me if they could finish it FOR me. It really began to get to me. I didn't think the story was that good to begin with. Then came kylesdreamgirl. She spammed my inbox with pleas for me to finish. She sent me a review telling me how much she needed me to continue this story. This time I actually considered it, though where I was originally going with this story I've long since forgotten, so what I had to do was come up with some new ideas. This story will continue as something completely different than what I had originally planned. I really hope you enjoy it as much as you claimed to enjoy the other two chapters. After all, I came back to this story just because you all asked me to, so I hope I can live up to your expectations.  
**

* * *

**Chapter Two – Home**

When our story resumes, we are standing in the parking lot of the hospital, staring at two glass doors, which are closed. We stand here for one beat, two beats, three beats, before the doors slide open and we see Kyle walking out very slowly with his parents. Stan is by his side every step of the way, ready to catch him if he falls or stumbles. There is worry etched across his face, though he tries very hard to look brave whenever Kyle is looking at him.

"You gonna be okay?" Kyle asks.

"I should be asking you the same thing," Stan replies.

"I'll be fine, Stan," Kyle says as they make their way toward the car. "Tell me, are you always such a mother hen?"

Stan doesn't reply to this. He just looks away, as if unsure of what to say, and continues walking.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes, then," Kyle says with a smirk. "Don't think my head injury made me dumb, Stan. I know you're worried about me, but I'm fine, really. Other than I can't remember anything about my own life, I'm doing great. Fit as a fiddle."

Stan mumbles something, but we can't hear what he says.

"What was that, Stan?" Kyle replies. "I can't quite make out what you're saying when you mumble."

"I said I'm just looking out for you. I didn't realize that was a bad thing."

"Stanley," Sheila says, "Kyle doesn't know you anymore, so to him your concern over his well-being might be a little disconcerting. Think of how you felt if some stranger walked up to you in the supermarket and started fretting over every little step _you_ made. It's the same thing to him."

"Yeah, Stan," Kyle agrees. "I don't know you. I don't know who you are, so give me a little space, will ya?"

"Sorry, Kyle."

"That's okay, Stan. I know you mean well."

They reach the car and Gerald helps Kyle get in the backseat. Stan opens his door to climb in, and we zoom into the car before he can do so. We make ourselves at home between the two front seats, looking back toward where Stan and Kyle are sitting. Stan buckles his seat belt, and Kyle follows his lead.

"Wait till you see the town," Stan says as Sheila cranks up the engine.

"It's really something, huh?" Kyle replies. "It'll be my first time seeing it."

"That's a really strange concept for me," Stan says, "because we were both born and raised in South Park. We've spent our whole lives here."

"Yeah," Kyle says, turning away and looking out the window. It's clear that Stan has hit a sore spot for Kyle. Kyle must be feeling such frustration at not being able to remember anything, and here Stan is, talking about their old hometown as though nothing bad had happened, as if he were still the same Kyle Stan had grown up with.

The car begins to move, and as it does Kyle lets out a sigh and closes his eyes. Stan looks over at him, that same look of concern on his face, but he keeps his mouth shut this time, which is wise of him. Kyle doesn't look like he's in the mood to put up with much.

After a few moments, Stan stops fretting over Kyle and snuggles down into his seat. He pulls out his iPod and sticks the headphones in his ears. We can't tell what he's listening to, only that it must be some kind of metal or rock, as after a little while, Stan starts playing air guitar and bobbing his head to the music. He has his eyes closed, so he doesn't see Kyle look up and catch him at this. An amused smirk stretches across his face as he watches. Clearly, Stan's antics must be a hoot to him. The old Kyle would have shrugged this off, having seen it before many times, but this Kyle has no recollection of ever seeing this before, and therefore finds it funny. Stan opens his eyes and sees Kyle watching him. He clears his throat, pulls the headphones out of his ears, and sits stiff and rigid, looking straight ahead and trying to play it off. This amuses Kyle even more, and he starts giggling.

"You really get into that music, don't you?" Kyle asks, grabbing the iPod off of Stan's lap. "So what is this thing?"

"It's an iPod," Stan says.

"iPod."

"Plays music, video, applications, all kinds of stuff," Stan explains. "It's like a little hand-held computer."

"Wow," Kyle says, looking it over.

"That particular iPod has a lot of sentimental value for me," Stan continues. "It was a gift."

"Oooh," Kyle says, wiggling his eyebrows, "from a _girl_?"

"No," Stan says, clearing his throat again. "It was, um, from you."

"Oh."

"You gave it to me for Christmas last year," Stan says, a smile on his face. "You said to me 'Just because I'm Jewish and can't celebrate Christmas, that doesn't mean I can't give my best friend a damn Christmas present.'"

"Wait a second," Kyle says, cutting him off. "I'm Jewish?"

"You don't even remember _that_?" Stan replies, shocked.

"No."

"Well, you're Jewish, from a proud Jewish family."

"That's right, Kyle," Sheila says from the front. "You even taught your little brother how to play dreidel. It was so precious..."

"And when were you planning on telling me all of this?" Kyle demands.

"We were planning on doing it later on today, Kyle," Gerald explains. "We just didn't want to overburden you with too much at one time, so we thought we'd take it slow."

"You're taking it too slow, if you ask me," Kyle says.

"Why do you say that?" Stan asks.

"Because they haven't told me _anything_, except that they're my parents, you're my best friend, and the little flappy-headed kid is supposed to be my brother. Everything else is a mystery to me. I don't even know how I lost my memory. Can you at least tell me _that_ much?"

Stan bites his lip and looks away. He definitely doesn't want to start things off with Cartman and the knife, or his three-story fall to the ground below. It would be horrible to burden him with that now, and they all know this. They just don't know how to tell Kyle this delicately.

"I, um, don't think that's a good way to start things out, Kyle," Stan says.

"Oh, that figures!" Kyle barks. "The first thing I ask about, and you won't tell me."

"Kyle, I..."

"Leave me alone, Stan."

They lapse into silence and our journey moved on. Out the windows, we can see we are coming into what looks like a small town. This is South Park, a small town of about a thousand people. As the town moves by us, Kyle looks out his window, dismayed that it all looks so foreign to him. After all, he's lived here his whole life, yet it's like he's seeing it all for the first time. We can see Kyle get more and more depressed the longer it goes on.

We cut to an outside view of the car pulling into the driveway in front of a big green house. This is the same green house from which Kyle took his unfortunate tumble. We'll talk more about that later. For now, our focus should be on the four people getting out of the car. Gerald and Sheila get out first. Gerald goes to Kyle's door and opens it.

"Do you need a hand, son? Give me your arm."

"I've got it under control, dad!" Kyle says through his teeth. "Just back off and let me do this."

"Okay, okay," Gerald says, raising his hands and backing away, "I was only trying to help."

Kyle growls in irritation and gets out of the car. He looks around at the things that should be so familiar: his home, his yard, the constant coating of snow on the ground. None of these things seem to ring a bell for him as he looks around, frowning.

"Nothing?" Stan asks as he walks up to him.

"I don't remember a thing," Kyle says. "Not a damn thing."

"Don't worry, Kyle," Stan says. "Maybe your room will do the trick. There's nothing more _you_ than your bedroom."

Sheila unlocks the door and everyone goes inside. We follow behind them and swoop in before the door is closed in our faces. Stan and Kyle go up the stairs while Gerald and Sheila head toward the kitchen, probably to make lunch. We follow Stan and Kyle up to the second floor, where Stan leads Kyle to a door with a Yelawolf poster on it.

"This one," he says.

"Who's Yelawolf?" Kyle asks.

"He's your favorite rapper," Stan replies. "You've got all his music, even his underground stuff."

"Doesn't ring a bell," Kyle says.

"Well, go inside," Stan says, gesturing toward the door. "Maybe your inner sanctum will jar something loose in your head."

There's a moment, two, three, then Kyle is reaching for the knob, moving slow, the _need_ for this to work written all over his face. He turns the knob, waits, gives the door a slight push. It opens slow, so slow, so he puts his hand on it and pushes harder. The door swings open and he steps in, and we follow him, of course. In Kyle's room, we see that he's a very tidy boy. Everything in his room is in a place, organized, and sorted in various ways.

In one corner, a small desk sits under a window, where sunlight beams in and there is a wonderful view of the neighborhood. On this desk are various things in tidy piles: homework here, printouts there, and one picture of Stan and Kyle standing on the beach. There are big goofy grins on their faces and their arms are over each others shoulders. They look to be about twelve in the photograph. Both are wearing nothing but swim trunks. We'll see this picture again later, so remember it.

Turning our attention back to Kyle, we see him walking slowly around the room, looking at things. He takes a well-worn book off the shelf. He looks at it for moment, then puts it back. He walks over to the desk, opens the drawer, looks inside. There's a small green book here that we didn't see before. It has the word JOURNAL emblazoned across the front. He picks it up, opens it, flips through the pages, pausing on various passages.

"Is it bringing anything back?" Stan asks.

"Hold on," Kyle says, not looking up from the book. He reads for several minutes, his face changing, reacting to various things he's reading. He finally looks up. "It's like reading about someone else's life," he says. "It feels like prying."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Kyle says. "Take this passage, for instance:

"'Dear Journal:

"Today Stan and I went over to Cartman's house because we heard he had the Terrance and Phillip movie on Blu-Ray. That wouldn't be such a big deal, except Stan was all excited about it because it's supposed to have these exclusive-to-Blu-Ray deleted scenes that he really wanted to see. I just don't want Cartman ripping on me the whole time we're over there. Why does he have to be such an asshole all the time? What did I ever do to him? Oh, well. If he starts in on me today, I'll just leave. I'm not putting up with that shit.'

"Who's Cartman? What's his beef with me?"

"Kyle..."

"Don't feed me that 'I don't think it's the right time' shit on me, either, Stan," Kyle says.

"But it's not!"

"I don't care," Kyle says. "Don't you get it? I don't remember anything!"

He throws the journal at Stan, who ducks out of the way. The book hits the wall and bounces off. It thuds against the carpet and flaps open, one page lying exposed to the world.

"I don't care if you don't think I'll _like_ what I remember," Kyle snarls. "I just want to _remember _something. _Anything_!"

"Well, why don't we start out small?" Stan says. "I'll tell you stories from the past, things about you that I know, and we'll see if anything jogs your memory."

"And you won't leave anything out?" Kyle asks.

"I won't leave anything out," Stan says.

"Promise?"

"Promise. In the meantime, why don't you read that journal of yours? It'll give you a more personal look at your own life than I could ever give you."

"I'll do that."

"And there are more journals than that," Stan says, walking to the big closet and opening it. We hear him rummaging around inside, and Kyle pretends to be offended.

"What are you doing?" he asks playfully. "Did I give you permission to go digging through my closet?"

"Oh, I do this all the time," Stan says, emerging with a big box. He puts it down and pulls it open. "You're always sending me to your room after something."

"Oh."

Inside the box are piles and piles of notebooks. All of them have the word JOURNAL written across the front, along with the date the journal was started and the date it was finished. All of them are organized to make them easier to search through.

"You've been keeping journals all your life, Kyle," Stan says. "Since you learned to write. You've probably got the most accurate account of your entire life right here in this box."

"Wow," Kyle says. "If anything will help my memory, this should be it."

"Right," Stan agrees. "If this doesn't work, nothing will."

They're both silent for a minute, then Kyle begins digging through the box. He pulls out an entire stack of journals and pulls the one from the bottom, the one with the earliest date on it. He flips it open and reads the first page aloud.

"Deer Jurnul:

"I met a kid named Stan in skool today. He was cool."

Kyle looks up at Stan.

"My earliest journal entry, and it's about _you_," he says.

"Well, I did make quite an impression upon you, if I remember correctly."

"I want you to tell me about it," Kyle says, "right now."

"Right now?" Stan says, raising his eyebrows. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, it's the perfect place to start," Kyle replies. "Now tell me."

Stan sighs and sits down on the bed. We can tell this is going to be a long story.

"Although we've been around each other since we were in diapers," Stan says, "we didn't actually formally meet until preschool. It was the very first day of our very first school year away from home. I was feel nervous about it, so nervous I wanted to throw up..."

We pan up toward the ceiling as he talks. Suddenly everything goes fuzzy and we blur to a big blue sky over a small sleeping town. We cut to a very small Stan being walked to the car by his parents, who were are meeting for the first time here. Hold Stan's left hand is a man with black hair and a black mustache, and we can't help but notice how he's similar in appearance to a cheap porn star. This is Randy Marsh, a geologist who works for the US Geological Survey. We can tell by looking at him that he's a good father, a good provider, a good man.

Holding Stan's right hand is a simple looking woman wearing a knit sweater. She smiles as she escorts her son to the car, but we can tell by the look in her eyes that she's having trouble not crying. She's obviously struggling with the idea of giving up her baby. Most parents do.

They buckle him into his car seat, then climb into the car. They pull out and drive away from their home. In the car with Stan, we can see he's apprehensive about something.

"What's wrong, Stan?" Randy asks.

"Nothin'," Stan replies.

"Liar, liar, pants on fire," Randy prods. "Come on, tell me what's up."

Stan sits there for several minutes, not saying anything.

"Come on," Randy prompts again. "We're your parents. If you can't tell us, who can you tell? What's bothering you?"

Another minute of silence, and then Stan speaks.

"Scared."

"Scared of what, sweetie?" Sharon coos.

"What if the other kids don't like me? What if they pick on me?"

"Oh, Stan, who couldn't love you?" Sharon asks.

"And if they decide they don't," Randy adds as they pull up to the school, "just punch them in the nose. That'll teach 'em."

"Punch them in the nose, got it," little Stan says as he unbuckles himself.

"Stan, no!" Sharon cries. "Randy, tell him you didn't mean it!"

Randy just laughs and thuds his palms against the steering wheel.

Sharon takes Stan out of the car and carries him into the school. We walk ahead of them, looking back at them. We hear Sharon muttering in Stan's ear.

"Don't listen to your father, Stan," she says. "He's an idiot. Don't punch anyone in the nose."

"'Kay, mom."

We step to the side and let them pass as they open the doors and step inside. We follow right behind them, down the hall to a small classroom where a group of tiny children are sitting in a circle, each with their fingers over their lips.

"Very good," the teacher is saying when we come in. "Now stay like that until I tell you to move, okay?"

She turns her attention to Sharon and Stan.

"Welcome, little Stan!" she coos. "Ooh, you're just as cute as a button, aren't you? Well, come inside. He can join our circle. We were just having quiet time. Stan sit in the circle with the other children and put your finger against your lips, okay?"

"Why?"

"Because that's what we're doing right now," the teacher says, "and we do everything as a group here."

"Guess that's okay," Stan mumbles, burying his face in his mother's shirt.

Sharon kisses him and puts him down. He wanders over and sits next to a kid with an orange parka over his face. We'll meet him in a little while. For now, it's quiet time for the kids. Stan sits quietly with his finger over his lips, but his attention is drawn toward another boy sitting across the circle from him. His hair is a fiery mane. His freckles cover his face. Stan wonders what his name is. We don't follow Sharon and the teacher as they step out into the hallway to speak because this is Stan's memory. Stan sits right where he is, finger over his lips, not moving.

A fat kid with a wicked grin sits a quarter of the way around the circle from Stan. We can see right away that this is a younger version of Eric Cartman. As soon as the teacher is out of the room, he takes his finger off his lips and looks over at Stan.

"Well, look what we have here," he whispers. "New meat."

Stan gulps at this, but does not take his finger off his mouth.

"Rule number one around here," Cartman says, "I'm number one. Rule number two: if you forget rule number one, you get your ass beat."

If these words seem a little much coming from a preschooler, please remember that Eric Cartman has never been normal for his age. He's always been more devious, more evil than anyone else in town. As a preschooler, he was more like a sixth or seventh grader as far as his pure cruelty could go.

The door opens and the teacher walks back in. Cartman quickly puts his finger back over his mouth.

"Well done, children," the teacher says. "You were very good. Now who's ready for a little fun time?"

We cut to the children doing finger paintings. We move down the line of children, looking at their various pictures. One child has drawn what looks like a bear, while another child has drawn what looks like people of all races, religions, and countries holding hands under a rainbow. When we pass Cartman's desk, it is a little disturbing to see that he's drawing a cat impaled upon a stick. The caption below says KITY ATE MY POT PIE. We move past him quickly and come upon Stan a few kids down, drawing a picture of three stick figures smiling in front of a house. The teacher walks up behind him.

"Aww, Stan, is that your family?"

"Yes, ma'am," he says. "Everyone but my sister. She's a bitch."

"Stanley, we do _not_ use language like that in _this_ classroom!" the teacher scolds.

"Sorry, ma'am," he says.

The teacher walks away. We pan over to the next kid in line, a little blonde boy with a big round face. He's drawing a picture of an apple while singing softly to himself.

"Loo, loo, loo, I've got some apples..." he croons.

This is Butters, but we'll meet him in a few minutes. He's got a pretty big part in this story, so you'll be seeing a fair bit of him. We scroll past him, the next kid, and the next, to that same redheaded boy Stan was looking at earlier. He's drawing a picture of the Star of David on his paper, or at least making an attempt to do so. Both of the triangles are facing the wrong direction, but we'll forgive little Kyle this, as he is just a little fellow. We stop here and watch him painting, his little pink tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. He dips his fingers in the green paint and draws what we'll have to assume is a tree.

We look up and see Stan looking in this direction, looking at Kyle again. He's curious, so he's not focused on his own work. Because our attention is focused this way, we see the teacher slip quietly out the door, trying to be sneaky about it. Eric Cartman sees her do this and jumps up with glee. He dabs his fingers in several different colors of paint, then walks over to Kyle and runs his fingers through his red hair. Kyle screams and jerks away, and Cartman's grubby, paint-covered fingers slide down Kyle's face, streaking it with paint.

"Why did you do that?" Kyle asks, close to tears.

Cartman grabs a fistful of hair and pulls.

"Because I can, Jew," he says. "Because I don't like your kind. _Weir mussen die Juden ausrotten!_"

He slaps Kyle across the face, leaving a tell-tale handprint covered with paint. Kyle begins to cry. Stan has seen enough. He marches over Cartman and taps him on the shoulder. When Cartman spins around, we see a brief flashback of Stan's dad telling him to punch troublemakers in the nose, then we're back. Stan takes his father's advice and bashes him across the face. Cartman falls to the ground and begins to cry.

"What are you crying for?" Stan asks. "I didn't even hit you that hard."

"Yes you d-d-did!" Cartman wails.

Attracted by all the crying, the teacher comes rushing back in and sees Stan standing over Cartman and Kyle, both of whom are crying. She rushes over and pulls him away.

"What did you do?" she demands.

"N-nothin'," he stutters, terrified.

"I asked you what you did," she says. "Now tell me the truth!"

Stan begins to cry himself, and soon everyone in the classroom is crying. The teacher rushes around, trying to calm everyone down. She manages to achieve this with a hand puppet. As she talks to it, the children fall silent, entranced.

"Now," she makes the sock puppet say in a goofy cartoon voice, "who wants to tell me what happened here today?"

Nobody says anything.

"Lucky Larry says all good boys and girls tell the truth," she prods again. "Come on."

"Well, gee golly, if Lucky Larry says it, uh, why it must be true," Butters says.

"What did you see, Butters?" she asks, walking up to him.

"Uh, Cartman started picking on Kyle, uh, and Stan was standin' up for him. He was savin' him!"

"Is that true, Kyle?" she asks Kyle.

"Yes, ma'am," he mutters, looking at the ground. He scuffs his tiny shoe against the floor.

She looks at the paint handprint on Kyle's face, the matted paint in his hair, Cartman's busted nose, and she puts it all together.

"Well, let's have a big hand for Stan, then, everybody," she says.

The kids burst into applause and Stan turns red. The teacher grabs Cartman and drags him away,

"No," he squeaks in his tiny voice. "I'm seriouslah! I'm gonna get you guys for this, especially that Jew!"

"That is enough," she says as she pulls him from the room.

While the teacher is gone, everyone begins to chat about what happened. It was the most exciting thing that has ever happened to them! Stan goes back to his painting, and we focus on him for a minute or two. We see someone walk up behind him and tap him on the shoulder, but we can't see who it is. Stan looks up and we zoom out to reveal Kyle standing there.

"Thanks for your help," he says.

"You're welcome," Stan replies. "Wanna hang out together at recess?"

"Okay," Kyle says, holding his hand out. "I'm Kyle."

Stan shakes his hand.

"Stan."

We dissolve back to the present, where Stan is sitting on Kyle's bed and Kyle is sitting in his computer chair.

"And we haven't left each others side since then," Stan finishes. "We've just... always been there for each other."

"Wow," Kyle says, "this Cartman guy sounds like a real asshole."

"Oh, he is," Stan replies. "He is."

"I hope I don't run into him any time soon."

"Don't worry," Stan says. "You won't."

"Why is that?"

From downstairs, we hear Sheila call them for lunch. Stan gets up and stretches.

"Maybe we should save that story for another time," he says.

"Maybe you're right," Kyle says. "Besides, I'm starving. I hope I enjoy Jewish food. I can't remember if I do or not."

* * *

**Next: Adjusting  
**


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